As they drove
up, and before the horses had quite stopped, Helen leaped to the ground
and ran to the old scholar with both her hands outstretched to him. He
looked timidly at her, and took the hands she gave him; then he produced
from his pocket a yellow telegraph envelope, watching her anxiously as she
received it. However, she seemed to attach no particular importance to it,
and, instead of opening it, leaned toward him, still holding one of his
hands.
"These awful old men!" Harkless groaned inwardly as he handed the horses
over to the judge. "I dare say _he_'ll kiss her, too." But, when the
editor and Mr. Willetts had gone, it was Helen who kissed Fisbee.
"They're coming out to spend the evening, aren't they?" asked Briscoe,
nodding to the young men as they set off down the road.
"Lige has to come whether he wants to or not," Minnie laughed, rather
consciously; "It's his turn to-night to look after Mr. Harkless."
"I guess he won't mind coming," said the judge.
"Well," returned his daughter, glancing at Helen, who stood apart, reading
the telegram to Fisbee, "I know if he follows Mr. Harkless he'll get here
pretty soon after supper--as soon as the moon comes up, anyway."
The editor of the "Herald" was late to his supper that evening. It was
dusk when he reached the hotel, and, for the first time in history, a
gentleman sat down to meat in that house of entertainment in evening
dress.
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